


Falling

by izazov



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 12:04:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1857375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izazov/pseuds/izazov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki does not like to share. Even his enemies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling

Loki hears it by chance.

He ignores the first, second and third utterance of _that_ name, but by the sixth time, his annoyance had already morphed into curiosity. Cursing inwardly both his predictability and the very existence of Thor, Loki extends a tiny bit of magic toward a group of loud and rather obnoxious Midgardian males sitting at the second table on his left.

Loki would prefer to take a more direct approach at prying the answers out of the loudest of them – the one clearly leading the conversation – but he actually enjoys this coffee shop. The coffee is beyond tolerable, and the service is surprisingly efficient. It would hardly be in his interest to demolish it, no matter how much more satisfying would it be to pick up the idiot by the scruff of his neck, and choke the answers out of him.

_It would also be a waste of a perfectly good alter-ego_ , a small, helpful voice inside his mind offers. He does hate to come up with them only to discard them so easily.

“-you really think that bullshit is true?”

“Well, _yeah_.”

“’Cos that’s not what I heard on the news.”

“Like they would tell the truth.”

Loki starts to feel a pressure building behind his temples. He takes a long look of the dark liquid in his cup. It is _really_ good coffee.

_Two more minutes_ , Loki decides, _I’ll give them two more minutes_. After that, well, not even divine coffee will save them – or the coffee shop’s interior – from Loki’s wrath.

“You’re only saying it ‘cos you think Iron Man is cooler.” The idiot number one says, in a tone a three year old would be ashamed of, and Loki starts to think he’d actually do Midgard – especially idiot’s closest relatives – a favor if he’d made sure he would never be able to procreate. “Thor is _a god_. Iron Man is just an overgrown GI Joe doll in a tin can.”

Loki snorts softly, imagining the look on Stark’s face if he heard himself being described as an overgrown doll, but, unfortunately for the idiot number one, the latter part of his statement nowhere near makes up for the former. _60 seconds and counting_.

“I’m not having this conversation with you again,” the maybe-not-idiot says, exasperated, and Loki takes a quick glance of his face, making a mental note not to hurt _him_ too much. “Stark had to invent the suit from a heap of metal in a cave to be a hero, Thor didn’t do anything except being born on _another freaking planet_.”

Maybe he could try to avoid hurting the boy altogether. As for all the others, their time is almost up.

“Still a god.”

“Yeah, a god who got himself abducted.”

_What?!_

The cup shatters in his grip, turning all eyes on him in an instant, even those of his unwitting informants. Loki smiles apologetically at the crowd, his well-honed instincts taking over the mitigation of damage, as his conscious mind seems to be stuck in a loop of trying to come with the terms of Thor apparently getting himself abducted.

He sends away the waitress with a soft “There’s no need, I can manage it.” taking the paper towel from her hand. His mind clearing enough to remember its general purpose, Loki continues to eavesdrop, throwing a glare at his right hand which – for some unfathomable reason – starts to shake. Squeezing the offending appendage into a fist, Loki vanishes the spilled coffee along with the shattered remains of the cup, not caring if anyone notices. No one does.

“-just saying it’s impossible.”

“And why’s that?”

“Did you see her? There’s no way a blond Playboy bunny could take on Thor.”

“I have one word for you – magic.”

The conversation continues, but Loki stops listening, his heart thundering wildly in his ears. There is something cold and heavy in the pit of his stomach, a feeling of dread he doesn’t understand, nor does he want it there. Instead he chooses to concentrate on the anger spreading like wildfire through his chest, the words – blond, female, magic – buzzing inside his mind, conjuring images of a wide, leering grin and green, knowing eyes.

_Amora._

****

“You _cannot_ be serious,” Loki states softly, incredulity written plainly across his face.

There’s a name connected to the short, blond man currently shaking like a leaf, even if he is the one with a weapon in his hand, but Loki cannot recall what it is. There are just so many men like this one, desperately trying to raise themselves from their mediocre existence by associating with those far above them. Loki has long since learned to accept them as a necessity, even if having to deal with them still leaves a foul taste in his mouth. 

“Loki, please,” the man stammers, mirroring Loki’s step forward with a step back of his own. There’s a comical sort of quality to their almost choreographed movement, but there are far too many thoughts and questions swirling inside Loki’s mind, demanding his attention, for him to appreciate it. Or the very genuine fear in the man’s eyes.

“Now, now, there is no need for this,” Loki says with a smirk. A second later, the gun trained at his chest turns into a snake with a small flick of wrist. The man screams, his eyes almost bulging out of their sockets as the snake coils around his arm, hissing menacingly. “We are all friends here. Or am I mistaken?”

The man looks truly pathetic now, his bewildered gaze flicking between Loki and the snake, as if trying to decide which of the two will strike first. “Yes, yes!” He exclaims, tears now flowing freely from his eyes. It makes Loki’s mouth curl in distaste. If there was any amusement in this, it’s gone now. “Of course we are. You… you know that.”

“Then, _friend_ ,” Loki says, his voice dripping with mock care, his fingers tracing small, soothing circles on the snake’s head. “Tell me where she is.”

Man’s eyes fall shut is despair. “I can’t,” he breathes out. Clenching his jaw in barely held anger, Loki manages not to rip the pathetic fool’s head. But only just. “Amora, she… she… you don’t understand, she’ll _kill me_.”

_And there goes the chance of this ending without blood._

“I admire your self-preservation instincts, but you are making a grave mistake in thinking it’s Amora you should be afraid of,” Loki says, pads of his fingers brushing lightly across the man’s cheek. The trembling only intensifies, but he stays silent.

Though he doesn’t stay silent for long.

****

Loki takes a moment to collect himself, the feeling of sticky wetness still lingering on the palms of his hands. The interrogation has left a sour taste in his mouth. The man – George, he remembered finally – had surprised him at the end. It took more effort to pry Amora’s location from him than it should have. Loki hates being surprised, especially by an insignificant ant as the now deceased George.

He takes a deep breath, his eyes lingering on the dark outline of a worn-down mansion across the street. No matter its rather impressive size, the mansion gives away an air of decay and neglect, not in the least what he would expect of Amora’s chosen place of residence.

_Maybe she doesn’t need glamour and pomp in the place she is holding prisoners._

Swallowing against the rising bitterness in his throat, Loki flexes his right hand, tendrils of green coiling around his fingers. How dare she? Of all the things she could have done, has already done, this is one thing she should have thought better of. And while Loki can certainly understand that there is no honor among them, has betrayed and been betrayed, there is such a thing as previous claim. And Loki takes it very personally. After all, it’s not that there are many things he can claim as his own – no home, no family, no real name – so why should he not have the right to at least choose his enemy.

His, not Amora’s, not anyone else’s. 

Loki contemplates teleporting inside the mansion, but decides against it. Too many unknown variables. Also, Loki doesn’t trust himself at the moment. Anger, seething inside him since the moment he found about Thor’s misfortune, feels like a coil strung too tightly, a mere moments from snapping.

It’s a short walk to the mansion, and even a shorter search of a backdoor entrance. Loki hesitates when he reaches the door, his hand lingering over the doorknob.

_What, in the Nine Realms, are you doing?_

A valid question, that. Not one he’s bothered to contemplate up to now. Settling the score with Amora aside, there is the matter of Thor. When he finds him – and it is when, not if, of that Loki has no doubt. What then? 

When his mind offers nothing valuable in terms of a response, Loki suddenly realizes something. Thor had – and isn’t it such a charming expression – _fucked up_. Allowing himself to be captured, and by Amora no less. A big misstep for the perfect warrior. A grin flashes across his face as he waves his fingers at the doorknob, the door opening without making a sound. Whatever else happens, no matter the myriad of conflicting thoughts he has about this entire endeavor, there is no force in the entire Nine Realms strong enough to stop him from throwing it into Thor’s face.

Is it the lingering giddiness of his latest revelation, or is he simply becoming careless, but he almost misses the sight of a giant axe flying towards his head. He manages to jump backward in the last second, a blow which should have had him decapitated, leaving him with only a small cut on his right cheek.

Loki lifts his hand to the cut on his face, his fingers coming off bloody. Skurge. He’d forgotten all about Amora’s guard dog. Maybe he is getting careless. 

Loki summons a dagger as he and his opponent start to circle each other. “Just a piece of friendly advice, Skurge,” Loki says, his tone light. “If I were you, I would run.”

Skurge’s only reply is a deep growling sound and a swing of his axe at Loki’s head. Dodging the blow, Loki’s lips stretch into a wide, razor-sharp smile. “This may come as surprise,” he says, grinning widely as the last tether to his anger and frustration cracks. “But I was hoping this will be your answer.”

****

“What did you do to Skurge?” Amora asks lightly, wide, lazy smile stretching her lips, but Loki knows her too well. She is afraid. Although, afraid or not, she is standing her ground on the other side of the room, rather conspicuously blocking Loki from the door behind her. “You didn’t kill him, did you? Good help is so difficult find.”

“He will live,” Loki says evenly, grimace of pain crossing his features as he moves a little too fast for his injured left shoulder. “Given that you find him in the next three hours before he bleeds to death. By the way, where were you during our little scuffle downstairs?”

“I’ve had pressing matters to attend to.”

“Is that so? I would like to see those _pressing matters_.” Loki says, his entire body coiled tightly. Now, so close to where Thor is being held, Loki suddenly finds every second spent in idle banter and unnecessary violence, a second too long. “After all, that is why I’m here.”

Obviously making a decision, Amora closes the distance between them. “Why must you be so formal,” she says with a lazy half-smile, reaching out toward Loki. It’s only light, teasing touch of her fingers on his cheek, but Loki has to will himself to stay still. It’s part of the game, like it always has been when dealing with Amora, but they are not exactly on the same side right now. She certainly has nerve, Loki has to admit that. It’s not really a surprise, considering it is one of the reasons why he could tolerate – sometimes even enjoy – her company. “I remember you being much more entertaining.”

With a slight arch of his eyebrow, Loki stops Amora’s hand from wandering further down his chest, bringing it to his lips. A flash of triumph lights Amora’s eyes for a fleeting second, making Loki smile in return. “I want to see Thor,” he says, venom masked as honey lacing his words. “And I want you to get out of my sight while I’m still willing to let you leave this place alive.”

Amora’s face hardens instantly, and when she pulls her hand out of Loki’s grip, he allows it.

“You forget yourself, Loki,” she says, the playfulness completely gone from her tone. “This is not Asgard, you cannot command me here. Well,” she smiles, but there is only malice in it. “You can’t command me on Asgard either anymore, can you not?”

Loki takes a moment, allowing her words to wash past him. He’s not that easily manipulated, no matter the knee-jerk reaction mentioning of Asgard always has on him.

“I let Skurge live,” Loki starts, his tone conversational, as if they are indeed on Asgard, attending one of its numerous feasts. There’s a flash of uncertainty in Amora’s eyes, as she – unconsciously or not – takes a step back. Loki ignores her display of fear, continuing as if nothing happened. “Because he is not to be blamed for his poor taste in women. Also, he had been hit on the head one too many times, so I cannot blame him for lacking the higher brain functions. You, on the other hand.”

Loki allows himself a moment of pause, all pretense of pleasantry vanishing from his face. He let Amora play her little game, even indulged her, but this has been one really long, tiresome day, and the worst is yet to come. The fight with Skurge has taken a bit too much out of him than Loki would have preferred, but not nearly enough to make him doubt taking on Amora if it comes to that.

“I _will_ kill _you_ ,” he says evenly, surprising himself a little with how much he is willing to do just that. There really aren’t too many Asgardians left that won’t try to attack him on sight, Amora, much a villain herself, being one of the few. “But not before I make you regret taking what does not belong to you. In ways even your ancestors would be proud of. The choice, of course, is yours.” 

The fight is clear on Amora’s face – anger, fear, frustration, uncertainty, flashing in rapid succession in and out of life – as she wages just how much she is willing to risk to keep Thor.

_Not her life, obviously,_ Loki thinks wryly, as the expression on Amora’s face settles into one of bitter resignation. “I will remember this moment, Loki. Perhaps even your exact words.”

“Farewell, Amora,” Loki says icily, warning clear in his tone.

“He doesn’t belong to you either,” Amora says, a shade of her previous smile ghosting her lips, as she takes a long, thoughtful look of Loki. “Although, I have always wondered about the two of you. Maybe you’ll get more than you bargained for when you came here today.”

Loki frowns, both in anger in confusion, taking a step forward, but Amora’s already gone, her laughter and parting words, “Enjoy yourself, Loki.” ringing in Loki’s ears, making his stomach fill with dread. Even if he doesn’t understand the cause of it.

Throwing a glance at the door in front of him, Loki grimaces.

_Well, there is only one way to find out._

****

Loki enters the room carefully, darkness engulfing him completely as he takes the first step inside. Maybe it’s a futile show of caution. Or he is simply trying to prolong the moments until he is faced with Thor. Although, caution or fear, it doesn’t matter. If there is one thing he’s learned so far, it is that in all his dealings with Thor, something always manages to go wrong for him.

The air in the room is stuffy, and smelling of mold, but there is also something else. Something that makes Loki shiver despite himself.

_Magic._

Much like touch, magic also leaves unique trace, one that corresponds to its owner. This one all but screams _Amora_. Much like his own, Amora’s magic consists of shiny, fleeting, ethereal things – tricks and illusions – making him feel like there is a teasing touch of ghostly fingers on the back of his neck. Clenching his jaw in annoyance, Loki flicks his wrist, filling the room with flickering green flames, and then, for a second, he simply forgets how to breathe.

There, in the far corner of the room, his hands bound by thick chains hanging from a large, metal ring attached to the ceiling, is Thor. He is bare to the waist, his head hanging low on his chest, his face hidden behind a curtain of blond hair.

It doesn’t happen often, but this time it’s Loki’s body that takes the initiative, closing the distance between himself and Thor, his mind still trying to process the sight before him. Thor – bound, helpless, completely at Loki’s mercy.

Loki’s not sure whether he wants to kill Amora, or send her a gift.

“So much power,” Loki whispers, a note of astonishment creeping into his voice. “Yet so helpless now.”

Thor’s only response is a muffled groan. A spark of concern – _she wouldn’t harm him, she is obsessed with having him, always has been_ – flashes inside his mind. When his careful “Thor?” goes unanswered, Loki reaches out, lifting Thor’s head by his chin. Thor only groans again, his lashes fluttering as he struggles to open his eyes.

Almost as if following a will of its own, Loki’s hand abandons Thor’s chin, settling against the back of Thor’s neck, mirroring what Thor has done countless times to Loki. “What has she done to you?” Loki whispers, more to himself than Thor, who, finally, manages to open his eyes. They are hazy, unfocused, the blue of his irises almost completely swallowed by black.

“Loki?” Thor asks in a hoarse voice.

Loki manages a small, reassuring smile, a second too late remembering that he has no reason to be reassuring. Or kind. “Yes, Thor,” he forces out through clenched teeth. Suddenly he feels the need to rip something – or someone – apart. How is it that even if Thor is the one in chains, Loki feels equally as bound? Maybe even more. Thor’s chains are made of metal, and probably magic, but Loki’s chains – feelings and memories – although invisible, are sturdier in nature. Even if memories belong to a life that no longer exist, and feelings are based on a lie, they are inside his very self. And Loki’s not sure who he hates more for their continued existence – himself or Thor.

Too caught up in his inner struggle, Loki doesn’t notice Thor moving his head, nor does he register a small moan falling from Thor’s lips as he nuzzles Loki’s hand which is still cradling his head. What finally draws him away from his inner demons is a warm, wet touch of Thor’s tongue on his fingers.

_Oh._

Loki freezes momentarily, his mind shutting down from the sheer shock of the look in Thor’s eyes. He’s seen love in those blue eyes, annoyance, anger, concern, a thousand different emotions at some point in time directed at him. But never has he seen pure, unbridled lust.

Loki’s not sure what is it that Thor sees on his face, but, with one last swipe of his tongue, Thor releases Loki’s fingers, his lips widening into a bright, blinding smile.

“Loki,” Thor says – _moans_ – and the sheer wrongness of his name coming off Thor’s lips in such manner, finally snaps Loki out of his daze. He takes two steps back, almost stumbling in his hurry, pulling his hand off Thor’s face as if burned.

Loki tries to calm himself, but his mind is caught between shock and hysteria, and his body is in even worse state. His heart is thundering wildly in his chest, his lungs cannot recall how to draw breath, he still feels the touch of Thor’s mouth, and he will kill Amora.

“Loki,” Thor asks, his face drawing into a frown, as he struggles against the chains. Loki knows that look, has seen it a few times on Thor’s face before his character building exile on Midgard. It’s the look he got when someone denied him what he wanted. And now he wants Loki. “Why do you shy away from me, brother?”

Loki barely bites back hysterical laughter. There is so, so much wrong with that sentence, but it would do him no good to explain it to Thor. He’s in a state where the words wrong and incest make no sense. He simply wants.

Taking a deep breath, Loki forcibly makes his mind to function. Thor’s state makes the decision he’s been dreading to make out of his hands. Maybe he’d come here with the hopes of playing with Thor’s mind, but there are some lines even he is not willing to cross. Instead he settles on a different course of action. Lift the spell, run away, forget all about what has happened here, kill Amora. _Especially_ the last part.

Now if only his body would cease trying to give him a heart attack, and behave, maybe all will be well.

Carefully, Loki takes a step forward, trying – and failing – to ignore the look of triumph on Thor’s face. It’s impossible to examine the chains without coming in close proximity of Thor, so he doesn’t even try, but it takes all his tenuous control not to turn back and leave Thor to his own fate when he resumes straining against the bonds in the attempt of getting their bodies together.

Clenching his jaw hard enough to almost break, Loki refrains himself from doing what he should, when Thor somewhat succeeds in his efforts, managing to get close enough to start grinding against him. Loki throws a murderous look at Thor who completely misses the point of it, lost in his drug-like state. “I really hate you, Thor,” he mutters under his breath, but Thor’s only response is a low moan, which shouldn’t make Loki shudder in response. He’s not the one with the excuse of a spell cast on him.

_You need to stop this, and quickly, before it goes out of hand._ Loki hates that voice. When he is feeling particularly masochistic, he can even admit it is because it’s the only part of him that tells the truth, no matter what.

Gathering himself, Loki mutters words of the spell, his fingers twitching above the links of the chain when it glows green. Of course. Like this hasn’t been difficult enough already. _This_ could very well make it catastrophic.

Taking a deep breath, Loki takes a small step back, just enough to stop Thor’s incessant grinding. Thor actually whines at the loss of contact, the look of betrayal on his face almost comical considering their past.

“Loki,” Thor half growls, half moans his name, and Loki is fairly sure that this damn spell is contagious, because for a split second, the hunger he sees in Thor’s eyes makes sense. Makes _him_ want with the same devastating need that is etched onto every feature of Thor’s face.

Loki crushes the thought almost as soon as it appears, and it takes him almost his entire willpower just to make himself smile reassuringly. “Thor, I need you to listen to me now,” Loki says slowly, each word straining to get past his lips, as he makes it a point not to look anywhere else on Thor’s body except his face. And that, considering what he sees there, is difficult enough. “I will release you, but I need you to behave. I need you to do what I say, can you do that?”

“I don’t want to behave, Loki,” Thor says, and it amazes Loki how can he turn a whine into something almost dignified. Loki almost jumps back when Thor jerks forward, his muscles straining against the chains. For one gloriously long moment, Loki stares in involuntary astonishment at Thor, almost sure his strength alone will be enough to break the chains holding him captive. It isn’t. “I want you.”

“And you’ll have me,” Loki says, this lie catching on his lips, not nearly as smooth as all the countless others he’s told during his long existence. “But, Thor,” he grips Thor’s face between his hands, desperately trying to force his words past the cloud of lust to what passes as reason in Thor. “You must try to control yourself. There will be time for… for you to be forceful later.”

The corner of Thor’s lips curls into a lazy, smug smile. “You promise?”

“I do,” Loki almost snaps, exasperated. Only thing that makes this situation tolerable are the vivid images of what he is going to do to Amora when this is all over. Taking a deep breath, silencing that voice inside his mind that screams that this is possibly the worst idea he’s had in his life, and he should simply leave Thor, or alert his human pets if he really feels the inexplicable need to play a hero, Loki grips the manacles around Thor’s wrists, and pulls – both with his hands and magic.

For one terrifying moment, the chains hold, making Loki grit his teeth as he pours all today’s frustration, fear, anger and confusion in another try. With almost inaudible crack, the manacles snap open, falling to the ground with a loud clatter.

Loki staggers back, but recovers quickly. Releasing a deep breath, he throws a glance at Thor, knowing that only half the work is done. He still needs to lift the spell from Thor. Thor hasn’t moved from the spot where the chains were holding him prisoner. He has his eyes closed, his face looking strangely serene – especially considering present circumstances – and, save from flexing his shoulders, he stands completely still.

Loki allows himself a small smile. Maybe fate will side with him today. Maybe this won’t get messier than it already is, given that Thor seems to exhibit some form of self-control. And then Thor opens his eyes, and Loki barely has a chance to think, I’m a fool, before two strong arms grab him by the lapels of his coat, and he ceases all conscious thought, his entire world narrowing down to the sensation of warm, demanding lips on his own. The kiss is hard and messy, there is no attempt at seduction in it, only raw need and desire. Thor’s body and mouth feel like a raging inferno against Loki, and for a moment, Loki is sure that this is how he will end – burned to ash under Thor’s touch. And maybe he should, because he’s utterly lost, all reason gone, and he’s reduced to a shivering mess of nerve endings, sparking electricity in the wake of Thor’s touches. 

“Loki,” Thor moans against his neck, pulling on Loki’s hair so he could get better access. Loki shuts his eyes, biting on his lower lip to suppress a moan that wants to spill past his lips. His hands are caught between their bodies, neither pulling, but not pushing Thor either. His mind gone, his emotions running rampant, Loki feels like he’s hanging over an abyss all over again, and, much like the first time, he doesn’t know whether he wants to fall down, or climb up to safety.

A flash of pain pierces through whatever lunacy had him in its grasp when Thor accidentally squeezes too hard his injured shoulder in his efforts of divesting Loki of his armor.

Gathering all his strength, Loki pushes at Thor chest, but only manages to move Thor half a step. But even that is better than nothing.

“You said you would behave, Thor. You lied. Isn’t that my domain?” Loki says in a hoarse voice that is far cry from how he usually sounds. His breathing still comes in short, shallow gasps, and his hands – still splayed against Thor’s naked chest – are trembling. But at least he’d stopped this madness before it went too far.

_Before? Are you sure about that?_

Thor’s face shifts into an expression so painfully familiar, it makes Loki’s heart twist painfully in his chest. “I only lied because you did as well, brother,” Thor says, an almost blinding smile stretching his lips, and for a moment, Loki can almost believe that they are back in Asgard, and he had never made Thor take that accursed jaunt into Jotunheim. But the illusion shatters as Thor brings his hand up to Loki’s lips, and there is nothing brotherly or innocent in the slow, soft touch of his fingers across Loki’s lower lip. “Despite what you may think, I _can_ tell when you lie.”

Loki opens his mouth to protest, but Thor shuts him up with a touch of his fingers. He looks almost normal now, like he didn’t want to devour Loki mere moments ago. Although, if he were in his right mind, he wouldn’t be smiling at Loki, but beating him to a bloody pulp.

“You have such pretty eyes,” Thor says earnestly, as if divulging one of the greatest mysteries of the universe, and it’s such a _ridiculous_ thing to say, in any circumstances, but it shatters Loki’s heart with the same effectiveness a softly spoken no had years ago. 

A chocked sob escapes Loki’s lips, a thousand conflicting thoughts and desires clawing at his mind, but there is only one that Loki truly wants. Gripping the back of Thor’s neck he pulls him into a kiss. And lets himself fall. The kiss is clumsy, messy, their teeth clashing as they both fight for dominance over the kiss, Loki’s hand gripping Thor with the desperation of a drowning man. Loki pours everything of himself – his lies and memories, his regrets and delusion, his love and hate – into this kiss. It’s ironic, and he would be first to laugh, if it didn’t make him want to howl like a wounded animal, that it is a kiss that finally damns him. That it is a kiss that takes his brother away from him forever, when all his lies, scheming and betrayal could not. And maybe there is still some good in him, because even if he’s already damned himself, he will not do the same to Thor.

“Forgive me, Thor,” he pants out, breaking the kiss. Their foreheads are touching, pads of Thor’s fingers caressing the skin behind Loki’s ears.

“What for?” Thor asks, the blissed out expression on his face fading into a frown of confusion.

_Everything_ , is what Loki wants to say. It’s also the last thing he should say.

“This is going to hurt,” Loki says, a second before he tightens his grip on both sides of Thor’s face and simply pushes. A scream rips through silence, his or Thor’s, Loki’s not sure, his entire body trembling with effort, as he draws Amora’s magic out. Does it take a few moments, or a lifetime, Loki cannot be sure, but he manages to break Amora’s hold on Thor’s mind. Staggering backward, his vision swimming, Loki manages to stay upright only thanks to the wall that miraculously appears behind his back.

When his vision clears, and his body stops shaking, Loki risks a glance at Thor. He is on his knees, head hanging low, chest rising and falling with harsh breaths, hands drawn into fists by his sides. A part of Loki feels like he would be forever grateful if Thor simply stays like that, never moving an inch. But there is also that other part of Loki that screams with need to see just how much damage he’s done. Slowly, as if waking from a dream, Thor rises his head, his eyes meeting Loki’s. And Loki gets his answer.

It is the wide-eyed horror on Thor’s face that Loki last sees before he does what he does best. He runs.

****

Of course, he cannot run from himself.

He spends his days searching for Amora, and every time he thinks he is close to finding her, the trail grows cold. He’s beginning to suspect that Amora had gone into hiding and he’s seen the last of her for the foreseeable future, but he still chases after her. It’s not even that he wants to exact his revenge quite so desperately – even though he does want to reduce her to a pleading mess of broken bones – it’s the simple fact that he needs this chase to keep him occupied, to keep his thoughts from slipping back to that night. From recalling every single detail of how it have felt to have Thor’s hands and lips on him.

It’s torture. To have lived a few dozen human lifetimes with Thor, and never once wondering how would Thor’s kisses taste like, are his hands capable of gentleness, or is demanding, rough touch all the Thunderer can offer. And now it is all he can think about. It’s like having a poisonous thorn wedged inside him, in a place far beyond his reach. And he cannot do a single thing to get it out, while the poison continues its slow spread through his blood, infecting his mind and soul with images and wants, leaving no space for reason, logic and morals. Not that Loki valued those much before his ill-advised rescue attempt.

If his waking hours are torture, his dreams are even worse. After the first two nights, Loki starts to avoid sleep, but after a time, his will loses the battle with his body, the need to sleep overpowering the dread of what it brings. Loki wakes hard and aching, images of golden skin and strong hands like a brand burnt into his mind, but it’s the memory of a single word, spoken with tenderness and desire in equal measure that makes Loki swallow against the bile in his throat, disgust and self-loathing taking care of his erection far more effectively than his hand ever could.

_Brother_.

It takes him three weeks to snap. Three weeks of torture and misery before he decides to end it. One way or another.

****

Loki is waiting.

He is standing on the rooftop of one of New York’s many skyscrapers, overseeing the chaos below. He stays out of the fight mostly, leaving it to Doom and his contraptions, intervening only to keep the other Avengers occupied. He is not here to fight, or to support whatever reason Doom had to unleash his army on New York, he is here for Thor.

There are not many ways their encounter could go. In fact, there are but a few. Only, Loki has no idea what to expect of Thor. Just a few years ago, he could read Thor like an open book. But Thor’s exile and his own downward spiral have changed everything, leaving only one constant – Thor’s love for him. Loki saw it as foolish sentiment and weakness, just another weapon to use against Thor. But he also needed it, a single person taking up space inside his heart where the ideal of home once existed. He he can admit it now. Now when he’s quite effectively ripped it to shreds. Nothing quite puts the perspective on just how much you need something than losing it completely.

And that’s why he is here. He wants to see Thor’s eyes devoid of love. Whether Thor will outright try to bash him into ground with Mjölnir, or try to bring him to justice, makes no difference. He merely wants to stop a small, delusional part of himself from holding out hope that there really is no end to Thor’s capacity for forgiveness when it comes to Loki.

And there it is, finally, a flash of red in the distance, rapidly coming his way. He has just enough time to remind himself that this is foolish, and he should put at least three realms between himself and Thor, but if he had listened to that part of himself, he wouldn’t even be here now.

Thor lands a few feet away, making a dent in the concrete. He doesn’t pause, merely allows Mjölnir to fall from his hand with a dull thud, closing the distance between them in three strides, a mask of deadly determination placed firmly on his face.

_So, I’m not even worthy of Mjölnir, he intends to kill me with his bare hands_ , is all Loki has time to think before Thor grips him by the lapels of his coat, much as he’d done the last time, almost lifting him off the ground.

“Thor,” Loki starts, pleadingly, but he realizes there is nothing he could say to make everything right. There is no lie even Thor would be foolish enough to believe, and saying sorry wouldn’t be enough. It would also be a lie. Loki regrets having to face the consequences of the kiss, but he has yet to regret the kiss itself.

“Silence,” Thor growls, shaking Loki like a rag doll, and if Loki does, it has nothing to do with Thor’s command. And everything with the look in Thor’s eyes. It is a familiar look, one he kept seeing in the mirror these past three weeks. A heady mixture of misery, confusion, regret and doubt, but above all else there is still love. And something new – desire. “You don’t get to talk, you have no right. No right, _no_ -”

With one last shake, Thor lets out a sound that is somewhere between a growl and a sob, before crushing their lips together.

As the world shatters around them, pieces too jagged to ever fit together again, Loki is not sure whether he wants to laugh or cry. He’s falling again, crashing into abyss, but this time, Thor is falling with him.


End file.
